


What Must Surely Be a Dream

by notapepper



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergent Alternate Ending, F/M, Set between 1x14 and 1x17, Tiny language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-26 00:23:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1667939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notapepper/pseuds/notapepper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>FitzSimmons fulfill their dream of visiting Stark Labs, where Fitz is accidentally dosed with an untested drug. Now the question is... how much can he embarrass himself before it wears off?  (Set after 1x14, before Hydra.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitzsimmons get the afternoon off and tour Stark Labs. High-jinx ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. I don’t own Iron Man or Marvel. Gosh, could you even imagine?

It was a rare treat to have an afternoon away from the Bus, just the two of them.

“Fitzsimmons,”  Coulson had ordered, “Take some time off.  You’ve been working yourselves to the bone, and I need you at your best if we’re going to track down the Clairvoyant.”

“But, sir,” Simmons had objected, “Skye’s condition is still a bit unstable…”

“Skye’s been back on her feet for over a week, Simmons.  Ward and May can look after her while you’re gone.”  Coulson checked his watch.  “We’re stopping in New York in an hour.  I need to report to the higher-ups at S.H.I.E.L.D. Central about our latest mission, and during that time, I’ve arranged a surprise for you two.”  He directed the last comment at Fitz.

“Sir?  Respectfully,  with everything that’s happened, I don’t think I like surprises.”

“Not even a private tour of Stark Tower’s spy-tech department?”  Coulson’s eyes twinkled as Fitz’s mouth bobbed open like a dumbfounded carp.  “They’ve been in contact, asking to meet with you both.”

“With… us, sir?”  Simmons’ brow knitted together, perplexed.   _Surely they’d only be interested in meeting Fitz.  He’s the weapons expert, and brilliant…_

Coulson chuckled at her disbelief.  “Just promise me one thing -- if they try to steal you away, tell Tony Stark I’m coming back to haunt him.”

 

-o-

 

Stark Tower (the Avengers Tower now, she supposed) was as grand as they’d imagined from seeing it on the telly.  The main facade of the building had been almost completely restored after the battle, rising majestically into the sky, mirrored windows glittering like scales on a parrotfish.  The architecture alone was enough to tie their tongues, both of them gaping at the geometric design with its swooping arc reactor as soon as it came into view.

“Fitz…” she breathed.

“I know, Jemma.  I can’t believe we’re here.”  Fitz glanced quickly at her from the side of his eyes, that small, unpretentious smile creating its usual somersaults in her chest.

Simmons linked her arm in his, shivering in appreciation -- at the tower, naturally, nothing more -- and faced the vast prismatic skyscraper.  “Well?  Shall we?”

 

-o-

 

Their Spy-Tech liaison, a brisk and cheery woman by the name of Sally Gunter, showed them through the doors of the restricted floor.  “We normally don’t allow outsiders in here,” she winked conspiratorially, “but considering Stark Industries’ relationship with S.H.I.E.L.D., and the reputation you two have built, we were hoping to impress you with some of our latest gadgetry.”

“Ma’am, I hardly think we’re qualified to assess your tech--”

“Nonsense.  We’ve heard all about the pair of you and your prototypes at Sci-Ops.  You’ve been on our radar for years!”

Fitz narrowed his eyes.  “Are you sure we should be given access to works in progress?  We don’t want to violate any clauses protecting your proprietary data.”

Ms. Gunter laughed, a short trill in the bustling lab.  “Oh, we won’t show you anything you’ll get in trouble for, don’t worry!  And the partnership between our two agencies does create a precedent.  We merely want you to appreciate the resources at our disposal here at Stark Labs, and the exciting new projects we’ve been taking on.”

 _Hmm.  So they_ are _trying to recruit us.  Well, the inventions are bound to be fascinating._

“That sounds exhilarating.”  Simmons barely had to exaggerate her interest.  “Please, elaborate!”  Under her breath, she reassured her suspicious friend, “Coulson trusts us to stick with the team.  He didn’t say we couldn’t bring back some ideas to reverse engineer…”

“Wonderful!”  Ms. Gunter clapped her hands for attention, a superfluous gesture with an audience of two, and held out a small cup of what looked like yellow foam.  “This is Illumination Clay.  An agent can hide this in a standard Silly Putty egg or Play-Doh tub, but if he should find himself without a light source,” she kneaded the plasticine, which began to glow as brightly as a 100-watt bulb, “Voilà!”

“Remarkable!” applauded Simmons, and Fitz’s natural curiosity peaked, his earlier reticence forgotten.

Ms. Gunter’s next demonstration was interrupted when she tapped a finger to her ear.  “Roger that.”  She turned to the two young scientists.  “I have some thrilling news for you.  I’ve just received word that Mr. Stark himself may be walking through this floor at any moment!”

Simmons looked at Fitz, who seemed ready to fall over.  She grasped his bicep to steady him, trying to ignore the hummingbirds in her stomach when she felt hard muscle under his sleeve.

“Stark?   _Tony_ Stark?  Here with us?  Oh, my giddy aunt.  Simmons, how’s my breath?”  Fitz leaned forward and puffed a heavy _whoosh_ across her face.

She scrunched her nose and tried not to cough.  “Fitz… did you drink tea today, or--?”

“Bollocks!  What if he wants to shake my hand and I’ve got coffee breath?  Oh, this is a right dog’s dinner!  Have you got a mint?”

  
Their tour guide turned towards a different table, oblivious to both their panicked whispers and Fitz’s halitosis.   “Over here, we have our latest iteration of the classic X-ray goggles: X-ray contacts!  These are practically impossible to damage and can take heat readings, scan for…”

  
Rather than listen to her pitch, Fitz was frantically eyeing every lab counter, looking for anything to freshen his breath.  Finally, he spotted a package of Wrigley’s spearmint gum lying near an open purse.  He crossed the intervening space like a bolt of lightning and barely managed to ask “Anyone mind if I take some?” before shoving several off-white rectangles into his mouth.

 

“Mr. Fitz!  Mr. Fitz, what are you doing?!”  Ms. Gunter’s cry of alarm brought a few members of the lab staff running.

“Just chewin’ a piece of gum… Cripes, I can pay you back if it’s that important…” Fitz defended himself with a slightly grumpy, mostly embarrassed scowl.

“Mr. Fitz, that is not gum!”  Her anxiety was contagious.  “It’s our new prototype for a comestible truth serum!”

The gum fell out of his mouth with a squishy  _plop_.

“What?!”  Simmons’ face went slack.  “It’s -- what?  Fitz… _ingested_ truth serum?”

“Yes.  And this latest batch has yet to undergo human testing.”

Simmons’ voice rose in dismay.  “What about the previous versions?  What’s going to happen to him?”

Ms. Gunter closed her eyes and seemed to be composing herself through some trick of meditation.  “It should be fairly safe, actually,”  Ms. Gunter drafted her words, plainly trying to salvage the situation without incurring a lawsuit.  “It will have a barbiturate effect, of course, so he’ll probably become quite groggy.  And the main concern is that he seems to have consumed three times the normal dose.  I’d recommend observing him closely for the next several hours.  But,” she continued in soothing tones, “based on our lab trials, he should be able to excrete those concentrations on his own without medical assistance.”

Fitz was close enough now that he could hear their conversation.  Comprehension blossomed on his face as Ms. Gunter’s words hit him all at once.

“I suggest you return to your living quarters and wait for the drug to leave his system.”

“Wha- Jemma, what-  We have to go?”

“Yes, Fitz, I’m afraid so.”   _So much for our day off,_ she mused.  But considering Fitz needed to be kept under observation, and they were still technically under orders to relax, this might be a good time to finish that DVD box set of _Battlestar Galactica._

 

As they exited the large white doors, Fitz mumbled dejectedly, “We didn’t even get to meet Tony Stark.”

“Someone say my name?”

The man.  The superhero.   _Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist._  Whatever else he was, Tony Stark was standing in front of them.  Simmons gulped and heard Fitz do the same.

  
“Mr. Stark, we’re such admirers --”

“-- can’t believe I’m standing in front of Iron Stark, erm, no --”

“-- you’ve seen the alien biology in person, how I would love --”

“-- the reason I became an engineer, I used to daydream your father adopted me --”

“-- to have traveled through a portal to space and come back alive; incredible!”

“-- if I could just study your arc reactor schematics I’d most likely wet myself--”

“-- the way you stabilized the Extremis is nothing short of--”

“-- and, I’ve got your face on my underpants -- well _that_ didn’t sound right --”

“Don’t mind him, sir, he’s under the influence of an untested drug.”

  
Stark was looking at them curiously, but impatient, until they fell silent.  “I dig it.  You kids have a whole Bunsen and Beaker vibe going on. Which one of you should I be looking at?  You?  Hello, gorgeous.”

Simmons’ eyebrows threatened to hot-air balloon off her forehead.

“Listen, it’s been fun, but I’ve got a dinner with a very punctual, very _angry_ blonde in about 3 minutes."  He shot finger guns at them, preparing to move on.  "See Virginia at the front desk for a souvenir; she autographs all my headshots.”

  
“Of course, Mr. Tony Man -- dammit!  I mean--”

“Wouldn’t dream of keeping you, sir!”

 Stark’s head tilted almost imperceptibly.  “Screw it; I like you.  Wanna see something cool?”  He touched a finger to his watch.  “Jarvis?”

Fitz and Simmons goggled against the anticipation churning in their guts.  They looked at each other with feral smiles and clasped their hands together, each needing a moment of human contact to ground them in what must surely be a dream.

The Iron Man suit began to form around Tony Stark’s arm, accordioning over his chest, torso, legs, and finally his head.  He turned a visored mask to them and Simmons yelped as her fingers buckled under Fitz’s fanatical clench.   Stark retracted the faceplate so they could see him once more, and his face had a look that said _I know what you want and I can make it happen_.  Nothing had ever been sexier.  “Selfie?”

Neither of them uttered a word -- to attempt speech at this point would only have meant hyperventilating -- while Simmons got her cell phone and positioned them in the frame.  Her manic grin was the width of a football stadium, Fitz looked like a pug with its eyes about to pop out, and Tony Stark was throwing up rabbit ears over Simmons’ head, his red and gold suit massive behind them.  Fitz and Simmons had taken many selfies over their lives, but this -- this was a selfie to shame all the rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, y’all know where I’m going with this, right? I should post the next chapter before too long. Thanks to [owlvsdove](http://archiveofourown.org/users/owlvsdove/pseuds/owlvsdove) for their awesome description of what a FitzSimmons & Stark selfie might look like, which inspired me to include one here, and to [TheLateNightStoryteller](https://www.fanfiction.net/u/5373487/) on FF .net for "no food where you lab" which gave me the idea for how to have Fitz babble even more ridiculously than usual when faced with Tony Stark.
> 
> I’ve never felt like MAoS needed Avengers to make it exciting or fun, but it seemed horrible to have FitzSimmons leave without meeting him. That said, trying to write for the king of one-liners Tony Stark nearly gave me a tic.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed reading! If so, please leave a comment :-)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Under the effect of truth serum, Fitz sets off a very important conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. or anything Marvel.
> 
> “It was as if a fist squeezed my heart and cracked a tiny flask at its centre, saturating it with love.” - Allan Hollinghurst

 

Back at the Bus, they bounded up to the cargo bay, chatting at a supersonic clip now that they’d regained their voices.

“Did you expect him to be so nice?  I wasn’t expectin’ it, busy man like that.  He said, ‘I like you’ -- Simmons, _Tony Stark_   said that to _me_!  Even after I behaved like such a knob!”

“You were fine, Fitz!  I think you did amazingly well, given the effects of the truth serum.  Just consider all the things you _might_ have told him!”

Fitz groaned.  “I don’t want to think about that… you’re just tryin’ to trick me into talking about the time I drew on a goatee with my mum’s eyeliner and made her call me Ton--”  he cut off as he realized what he was saying, and jabbed an accusing finger at Simmons.  “See?  You’re a devil woman!”

She laughed, a delicate sound like glass chimes, “Oh, Fitz!  I already know that story, remember?  Our first Christmas together in Glasgow, your mum couldn’t wait to spill the beans.”

Fitz chuckled and rubbed his hand over the back of his head.  “Ah, that’s right… you two were thick as thieves, set on dredging up every mortifying photo from my primary-school days…”  His face turned somewhat angelic as he trailed off.

“You’ve nothing to worry about, you know.”  Her smile was soft and kind.  “How can I trick you into telling me your secrets, when we have none?”

“I guess that’s so… except, of course, that I’m in love with you and you don’t feel the same way.”  Fitz’s voice was meandering, only half-aware of what he’d admitted until the words were all the way out and hanging in the air like Chinese lanterns.

They stared at each other, both of them statues as the declaration seeped into the walls.  A mask of pure discomfiture, Fitz clapped a hand over his mouth and sprinted up the stairs.

 

 _What?!  Fitz… is in love with me?_  Simmons’ heart began to sound out a timpani beat.  She shuddered as the next part of his confession boomeranged back into her.   _And he thinks I don’t love him?_ How was that possible?  For Pete’s sake, she’d sacrificed herself to save him twice!  (Tried to, anyway.)  Simmons might not have broadcast her feelings aloud, but, she thought, there was no misinterpreting her actions.

 

She’d agonized over this discussion in the past.  Every time, she’d decided not to tell Fitz how she felt, for fear he wouldn’t reciprocate.  Or maybe because, if it _were_ mutual, she couldn’t picture either of them leaving the team in order to comply with the anti-fraternization policy. But that was before she heard Fitz claim with heart-rending surety that she didn’t love him.   _Would he ever have told me?_  Simmons didn’t have a plan.  But she needed to fix this.

 

-o-

 

Simmons marched into Fitz’s bunk to find him on his back, staring at the ceiling.  His hands were diligent, solving a Rubik’s cube without help from his eyes.  She pushed his legs off the bed, forcing him to sit, and perched gingerly on the now-unoccupied spot at his side.

 

“We need to talk.”

“Let’s just forget I said anything, Jemma.”

“No.  We don’t keep secrets, remember?  If we bury this, it’ll sit, and soak, and fester, until we can’t even look at each other.  I don’t want that for us.”

“It won’t be an issue, please -- just let it alone.”  Fitz looked resigned.  “I made my peace with it years ago.  No one’s to blame; you simply don’t return my feelings.”

Simmons scoffed.  “Obviously I love you, you silly man.  I’m just--”

“Not _in_ love with me, I get it, it’s fine.”

“Fitz, you’re my best friend, but for once, let me finish my own sentences.”  Simmons inhaled deeply -- _here goes nothing_ \--  and let it out.  “I _am_ in love with you.  I’ve _always_ …” she trailed off, trying to firm up the words that slipped about like warm pectin in her throat.

It was true.  She loved everything about Fitz -- the complexity of his brain and the simplicity of his smile, the unerring way his hands moved over a machine, how he always chose scissors in roshambo.  She loved him in clean, precise, chemical ways, and even more in messy, gushy, biological ones.  Her horizons were full of him, their lives and selves entwined like strands of DNA .

Simmons had practiced speeches once upon a time, to qualify the infinity of her feelings, but in that moment, staring at each other, brown on blue, words faded like chalk.  She was Atlas, trapped under the intensity of his eyes, and could only swallow and hope her face gave her away.

“It’s because I love you _so much_ ,” her gaze fell to the quilt between them “that I don’t want to be separated from you.  The protocols clearly state--” 

“Oh, to _Hell_ with the protocols.”

With no further warning, Fitz’s hands were on her face and his mouth was on her lips, his breath on her tongue muting any objection she might have had.  Unthinking, her fingers went up to skim his cheek, then his ear, before brushing through his hair and grabbing onto the nape of his neck. Fitz’s hands moved down past her rib cage, one settling into a grip at her waist and the other traveling back to flatten against her shoulder blades.  After either seconds or millennia, Simmons shifted slightly, and the sudden graze of Fitz’s fingernails on her bare hip catapulted her back to common sense.

 

She rocketed away, breathing hard and unable to raise her eyes to his.  “This is… unwise.”

“ _Or_ , it’s the smartest thing we’ve ever done.”  Fitz reached for her again, and she scooted across the bed, knowing that if he touched her, her convictions would disappear like bubbles on the wind.

“I’m serious, Fitz.  There are cameras everywhere on this plane!  And you know I’m not a good liar.  I don’t know if I can--”

“Jemma, look at me.”  His azure eyes were vehement.  “We’ve been tiptoeing around this for ages.  You… you’re like math to me, or Scotland, or… socks.  Och, I’m crap at this.”  He scratched a spot behind his ear, reddening.  “But -- if you really do love me,” he blinked, shaking his head as if to clear it, “there’s no force from here to Asgard that’ll keep me from bein’ with you.”

 

A whimper came unbidden to her throat as she bore witness to his earnest, beautiful soul.  Simmons’ heart contracted, trapped between a mortar and pestle.  She wanted to fly into his embrace and never land.  But she was also a woman of science, and she knew -- it was hard to think of them just at the moment, but -- she’d had good reasons for keeping her heart under lock and key.   _You’re stronger than this, Jemma._ She couldn’t allow herself to be controlled by something as mundane as a physical response to stimuli.  Decisions needed to be made in a vacuum of objectivity, not on a rumpled mattress with her hormones stampeding.   _Grab the reins, Jemma._

“I-- please, Fitz, I just have to think.  Can you give me time to think about this?”  He would be needing his rest soon, anyway.

He nodded, but where she might have expected confusion or hurt, she was surprised to see quiet confidence and half a smile.  She stood to leave, slowly, and he caught her at the door.

 

Fitz’s thumb traced her jaw as he murmured, “I know you’ll figure a way for us to be together.  You’re brighter than Da Vinci on a sunny day, y’ are.” His gaze held hers in a prayer.  “There’s no one so clever.”

“Except for you?”  Simmons rolled her eyes, a vain attempt at levity while her heart pounded tidal waves in her ears.  
The answering whisper was almost too low.  “No.”  His lips dusted hers for a fraction of a moment before he slid open the door.  Simmons drifted out, spaghetti-kneed and certain the entire world could see the heart-shaped neon sign blinking above her.

 

-o-

  
A few hours later, Fitz was napping off the truth serum, and Simmons was in the lab, idly working on some back-burner task and humming cheesy love songs into the silent room.  The jolt of electricity from Fitz’s skin on hers still tingled down her side and seared across the contours of her face.

 

She was glad she’d left when she did.  Fitz was, after all, technically on drugs, and it had put her in an almost abusive position of power.   _Who knows what else he might have revealed?_  It would have sullied the moment if he was saying those things because of a forced reaction in his brain chemistry, and not because he wanted her to know.

 

She worried, too, unable to stop.  She wasn’t sure she could deceive the team if she and Fitz started dating, but she was terrified to ask Coulson for permission, in case he reported them straightaway.  Her priority had always been to stay with Fitz, to ensure Fitzsimmons remained whole.  Now that one world-staggering kiss had sent everything haywire -- and there was no mistaking that everything was different now -- her mind was in a tailspin trying to make sense of _how_ to keep their duo intact.  So far, she hadn’t come up with any genius ideas.

 

A droopy-eyed Fitz scrambled into the lab, pulling on his lab coat like a bathrobe.

“Simmons?  What time is it?”  He was adorable, one meerkat curl sticking up at the back of his head.

“You’ve been sleeping nearly three hours.  It’s fine, though, Coulson said we had all afternoon, and we left Stark Tower early so there was plenty of time.”

 

“Stark Tower… we saw Tony Stark!  In his suit!  Did I dream that?”

“No…” a small tendril of dread needled its way into her spine.  “Fitz, don’t you remember what happened?”

  
Fitz ticked off his fingers.  “We were at Spy-Tech, we took a picture with Iron Man… then we came back here and it gets hazy after that.  Why, what happened?”

 

Shock.

_It’s a side effect of the serum._

Apprehension.

Guilt.

Relief.

_They won’t split us up.  It’s better this way._

_We can be a fantasy.  A perfect, bittersweet memory._  

 

Simmons forced a laugh into her voice.  “You numpty, you _ate_ one of their prototypes, and it must have fogged you up a bit.  I’ll have to watch you to make sure, but you should be right as rain now.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember the gum.”  Fitz grimaced self-righteously.  “I mean, _come on_ \-- who leaves something like that just lying around?”

“In fairness, Fitz, you do have a bad habit of eating in the lab.  I’ve told you a hundred times it’s not safe.”

"Well we're stuck in here all bloody day; it's easier.  And I'm not quite as brilliant when I'm hungry."

She chuckled at the _'not quite'_.  "Just as humble, though, I see."

"You shush."

Their bickering was a favorite sweater, fresh from the dryer.

 

“Simmons?”   He slurred her name a little, still drowsy.

“Mmmm?”

“Can I get a copy of that selfie?”

“Of course, Fitz.”  She beamed at him with melted-caramel eyes big enough to swim in.  “Today was a dream come true.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s that.  I didn’t exactly reinvent the wheel, plot-wise, but I’d always wanted to write them getting everything out in the open, and this is as close as I can manage.  
> I was inspired by the quote at the beginning, which I remember from some required reading a million years ago, and I got a few ideas for cutesy compliments from posts on imgur.  
> If the ending makes you sad, just tell yourself you stopped reading before the last segment.  
> Oh, and this is the first time I’ve written any kissy-kissy love-professing scenes, so I hope it’s not too cringeworthy.  Thanks!
> 
> (Comments are like a full set of teeth -- not necessary, but they sure do make life better.)


	3. Alternate Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another way this could have gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t own Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.
> 
> I told myself “alternate endings are for the weak!  never apologize!  lok'tar ogar” and “whaddya doin’, flip-floppa, just write a whole ‘nother fic if you want this scene so much.”  
> But in the end, one of the reasons I like fanfiction is that there aren’t as many rules.  And I had this “happy” ending in my gut ever since I wrote the first one (which I didn’t truly want to scrap). Also, I don’t have time right now for anything longer, so this was a good way to get my fanfic groove on in a limited way.  Anyway, here it is.

A droopy-eyed Fitz scrambled into the lab, pulling on his lab coat like a bathrobe.

“Simmons?  What time is it?”  He was adorable, one meerkat curl sticking up at the back of his head.

“You’ve been sleeping nearly three hours.  It’s fine, though, Coulson said we had all afternoon, and we left Stark Tower early so there was plenty of time.”

“Good.  That serum hit me harder than I thought.  What are you workin’ on?”

Fitz wandered to where she was and looked over her shoulder.  He was startlingly close and seemed to know it.

“Just… er… a non-lethal version of the…”  Words.  Why couldn’t she remember words? “...giant wasp venom we discovered in Brazil.  It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while.”

“Hmm.  I’ve been thinkin’ about something as well.”

His voice was millimeters from her neck, and it sent a shiver from her belly button to her shoelaces.

Simmons cleared her throat abruptly.  “Oh?  A proj-  you don’t- I mean, you thought of a new idea?”

“It’s to do with our pesky protocol issue.”  This time his timbre tickled the sensitive shell of her ear, and she very nearly dropped her graduated cylinder.

“Fitz!  These are volatile!  Are you trying to set me on fire?”   _Oh, God.  Phrasing._

“Sorry.”  No he wasn’t.  She could _feel_ the smug smile on his face.  Prat.

But at least he moved around to face her.  Or perhaps that was worse.   _No doubt I look like a tomato in a wig, after all that._  Simmons sucked in a breath, mentally adding up her birthdays and diplomas, and reasserted the usual level of decorum.  She raised an eyebrow.

“So tell me your grand scheme, Doctor Fitz.  Because I can’t find the answer and by your own admission, I’m the smarter one.”

“Ah!” Fitz pointed a finger upward.  “You may wish to re-evaluate that statement in a minute.”  His voice went up comically.  ‘But Fitz,’ you might ask, ‘why is that?’”  Simmons crinkled her face in mock disgust at his impression.  “Well, it’s simple really.  What does the handbook actually say about fraternization?  Verbatim.  I know you’ve memorized it, you nutter.”

Sigh.  Fitz being playful was the cutest thing since people started putting puppies on skateboards.  Not that she would ever let him know that.

“Lots of people commit important documents to memory.”  She almost stuck out her tongue, but Fitz was the immature one, not her.  “Fine:  ‘In the interest of avoiding misunderstandings, conflicts of interest, favoritism, sexual harassment, problems with team morale, and dissension, all agents engaging in romantic activity’ --”

“-at their place of work will be subject to disciplinary action.  Simmons.   _At their place of work._  Which means…”  

Realization dawned.  “If we’re not on the Bus…”

“I know it’s a technicality, and it’s not ideal, but-- is that enough wiggle room that you won’t feel you’re lying?”

Fitz had that eager, boyish face he got when they’d made a breakthrough on one of their designs.  Simmons tapped her lip as if in thought, knowing her mind had already cycloned away, possibilities whirling.  Slowly, her expression lifted to match his and the corners of her mouth tugged up into a canary-eating grin.

“I think I could _definitely_ work with that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then they run out of the cargo bay and snog behind the wheel well and almost miss May's 5-minute warning. Right? Right?
> 
> Sorry to anyone who doesn't like the indecisiveness of alternate endings.  I usually don't waffle around like this but you know what, screw it.  Waffles are delicious.  So if I've offended you, here are some tasty homemade waffles *hands you a plate* and look!  They have pecans!


End file.
